


bright sheets of feather flames

by brinnanza



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Post-Canon, Wings, like way way post canon in the hypothetical future when everything is Fine, rampant unapologetic tooth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22566769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnanza/pseuds/brinnanza
Summary: The mid-morning sun glints gold off of Hamid’s scales as he climbs into the cloudless sky, the beating of his wings pushing him higher and higher. The wind is cool against his skin, but he is warm inside and out from the dry heat of the desert and the flame-bright feeling building in his chest as he soars into the blue.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	bright sheets of feather flames

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sothisiswhatsnext](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sothisiswhatsnext/gifts).



> this is my penance in return for some angst Crimes on the red string server. specifically for kai, whom I bullied into sharing some Extreme Angst they thought of. title's from the mechanisms's redeath
> 
> don't think too hard about the logistics; this takes place in the hypothetical future when the world is saved and everyone's alive and it's Fine Thanks.

The mid-morning sun glints gold off of Hamid’s scales as he climbs into the cloudless sky, the beating of his wings pushing him higher and higher. The wind is cool against his skin, but he is warm inside and out from the dry heat of the desert and the flame-bright feeling building in his chest as he soars into the blue. It pushes at the boundaries of him, some inescapable joy he is not large enough to contain. It spills out of him in a whooping cry and fades into a delighted giggle. Even now, after everything, he cannot find it in himself to be anything but _happy_.

Ishaq and Ismail are waiting for him in the sky, their own wings spread as they coast over the thermals. Ishaq reaches him first, looping around him once before settling in to hover, flapping his wings to keep himself aloft. There’s a massive grin on Ishaq’s face, his features sharpened with both age and power.

“About time,” Ismail says as he joins them, matching grin on his own face. Time has closed the gap between the twins, and he is once again the spitting image of his brother, scales scattered against his warm brown skin in a nearly identical pattern. “Ready?”

Hamid’s answering laugh is tugged away by the wind. He flies a lazy circle around the twins just because he can, because he wants to, because they are all safe and the days are long and warm and sunlit. There are no monsters here, not anymore, and Hamid loves his brothers with a ferocity that would consume any being less suited than he to flames. “Ready!” he calls back, and the three of them line up so they’re all at roughly the same altitude, high above the sloping Egyptian sands.

“On three,” Ismail calls, and they count down together. On three, Hamid folds his wings in tight against his body and dives, plunging through the sky like an arrow with his two younger brothers on either side. The wind whistles sharp in his ears, combs fingers through his hair that destroy the artful coif he’d magicked into place. His stomach swoops and his heart soars, and he is weightless, boundless, _free_.

The desert hurtles closer, a vast brown and beige landscape that resolves into hills and dunes. Hamid lets himself fall and fall and fall, ground rushing up to meet him, and at the very last moment before it hits, he throws his wings open once again. They catch on the speed of his descent, stopping him short. He beats them once, twice, stirring up a little sandstorm on the ground beneath him.

He makes a tight circle in the air, careful not to change his elevation, and then cranes his neck up to see Ismail and Ishaq in the sky above him. They’re both gliding in gentle circles to maintain their elevation; Hamid flaps his wings again and rises to join them.

They are, as Hamid expects, arguing goodnaturedly about who is, in fact, lower to the ground. Their altitude looks nearly identical to Hamid’s eye - Ishaq might have a few centimeters on his twin, great gleaming wings dipping just under Ismail’s as they pass each other, but Hamid knows better than to step into the middle of that particular battle.

“I _saw_ you, Ismail!” Ishaq is saying when Hamid is close enough to hear. There’s a frown wrinkling the scaled planes of his face, but his eyes are still bright with mirth. “You pulled up first, I _know_ you did.”

“How could you tell unless you -” Ismail starts, but he stops when he spots Hamid. “Doesn’t matter anyway cause Hamid won _again_.” He sticks his tongue out playfully, and Hamid prestidigitates it green.

“It’s because he’s bigger,” Ishaq says, a familiar chord in a familiar refrain. He turns to Hamid. “You fall faster, so even if you pull up first, you’re still lower to the ground.”

Hamid just laughs. “I keep telling you that’s not how gravity works.”

“Says you,” Ishaq returns. “What do you know?”

“Quite a lot, actually.”

“Says who?”

“The maths faculty at Cambridge.”

“You got kicked out of Cambridge.”

The reminder doesn’t sting anymore, hasn’t for a long time. He’s had to fight for it, but Hamid’s made his peace, has earned every bit of it. He glides over close enough that he can ruffle Ishaq’s hair with the tip of one wing. “Yes, and then because your big brother is so very brave and so very charming, he helped save the world, and Cambridge gave him another go.”

Ishaq ducks out of the way of Hamid’s wing and sticks out his tongue. Hamid prestidigitates it purple, but Ishaq just changes it back. Hamid sticks his own tongue in retaliation and immediately feels a tingle of magic as one of the twins casts prestidigitation on it. He giggles, falling back into a lazy barrel roll, and sticks his tongue out a little further to catch a glimpse of the tip. It’s a bright, neon pink that puts Azu’s armor to shame; Hamid decides to keep it until he can show her later.

He climbs out of his loop, and glides back to the twins. “Fancy another go?”

They share a look, considering. “Nah,” says Ismail, “you’ll just win again.” He pauses, exchanges another look with Ishaq, and then brightens. “Maybe Cel has something that can make us go faster.”

Hamid snorts. “Make sure Zolf has all his spells before you ask them so he can put you right when it inevitably goes wrong.”

“I can’t believe you don’t trust Cel,” says Ishaq. “I’m gonna tell them you said that.”

“Oh, I trust Cel, I just don’t trust _you_.” The twins laugh, and Hamid grins, love and affection blooming within him again, endlessly, filling up every empty space and lighting every darkened corner of his being. “Race you home?”

“You’re on!” Ishaq yells, and he and Ismail are off before he’s finished speaking, speeding across the desert back to the al-Tahan estate.

“Cheaters,” Hamid grouses, but there’s no acid in the word, just old familiarity. He swoops up into the sky again and then follows them, wings shimmering gold in the sun.


End file.
